The 63rd Hunger Games
by HardyGal
Summary: Six Cybertronians are transported through time and universes to a broken earth, where they are humans, and they are inducted into the current 'sport'. The Hunger Games. Knock Out, Soundwave, Starscream, Smokescreen, Arcee and Bumblebee have to find a way to get back to their own universe and time… And survive the games. (No romance whatsoever, just alliances and family)
1. The (Unexpected) Reaping

**Chapter One: The (Unexpected) Reaping**

"Stella Quir."

Starscream came online to a chorus of low muttering and a few sighs of relief. It really did feel like coming online; what had he been doing before? And why was he here surrounded by… humans?

"Wait, _what_?" Starscream snapped sharply into reality. If it could be called that, for he was surrounded by a crowd of human femmes, all of them staring at him with stony faces, some of them pitying. Then he realized they were as large as he, or perhaps he was as large as them? He looked down at himself. Oh Primus, he was a _human_. And not just a human, a human _femme_.

Starscream began hyperventilating, optics wide with unspeakable horror.

"Come on sweetheart, don't be shy." Starscream looked up at the man on a large stage, looking akin to the human celebrity Lady Ga-something. Pink hair, pink suit, pink tinted skin. Appalling. Humans were such disgusting beings, but at least Agent Fowler had a bit of common fashion sense. This was ridiculous.

For a moment, Starscream just stared at him uncomprehendingly. Then, a white armored man grabbed hi-_her_ arm and dragged her forward, and… _her_ panic returned. Starscream fought.

"No! No! Let me go!" she shrieked, clawing wildly through the trail to the stage. How he – she hated this new, high pitched voice. A few more white clothed humans took a hold of her, holding her still. "No…! No!"

Starscream took a deep vent, and fell silent, her vocals starting to feel ragged, and stared about at her surroundings. Her optics, all watery, and weird, and _organic_, were starting to hurt. The pink man onstage smiled uncertainly at her as the mech-turned-woman was restrained. The people offstage, well but rather simply dressed human mech and femme younglings, were murmuring even more, still sounding pitying. What in Primus' name was going on!

"Okay, um, any volunteers? No? Alright then, to the boys." The pink man swaggered to a glass bowl filled with slips of paper. He fiddled about inside, drawing out a slip. "Wave Sonus!"

There seemed to be another long, quiet sigh, and the half of the crowd that consisted of youngling mechs parted slightly. There was a rather tall human mech in the center, with dark skin, bright golden eyes, and a blank countenance. He was looking around, mouth open slightly in a seemingly bewildered manner, but when the white clothed humans began to slowly converge on him, his mouth shut sharply, and he smacked away the arm coming to grab his shoulder, before walking slowly up and onto the stage, opposite Starscream.

He stared straight ahead for awhile, before slowly turning his head to look at Starscream. Then, the seeker-turned-human caught sight of the shiny, purple, falcon trinket that hung about the boy's neck. "Soundwave?" Starscream mouthed. Surely her optics… eyes couldn't get any wider.

The silent mech-turned-human simply nodded once, before looking straight ahead again. The white clothed humans had released Starscream once they were sure she had calmed down.

"Well, that's our tributes!" the man in pink announced enthusiastically into a speaker mounted in the middle of the stage. "Now, a word from our mayor!"

The man stepped down to be replaced by a tall, official looking woman, who started talking something about a war, a destroyed district, and games. Honestly, Starscream wasn't paying much attention; he– she was too occupied with trying to accept her surroundings.

Yes, there was a crowd of young humans standing before the stage, a group of males on one side, the females on the other, looking dull, depressed, or maybe just bored. There were cameras seemingly everywhere, focusing on the 'mayor', focusing on the pink man, focusing on Starscream, focusing on Soundwave, and focusing on a dark skinned femme who sat on the side, legs crossed, her lower lip stuck out a little in a dark pout. She seemed no older than the younglings presented in front of the stage.

Then, the mayor seemed to finish up her speech, and stepped back from the microphone. There was a moment when Starscream wasn't sure what was happening, until the pink man coughed.

"Shake the boy's hand, sweetheart," he muttered.

Starscream blinked. "_What_?" she hissed.

"Shake his hand." The man seemed a little nervous.

"What the slag is going on?" Starscream retorted. She wasn't doing anything until she got some answers.

"Shake the hand, sweetheart," the man said again, his face breaking into a forced, nervous grin.

Suddenly, the dark girl sitting on stage stood up and approached the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen it's our tributes for District Three!" she shouted into the microphone, spreading her arms with what seemed like forced enthusiasm. She didn't seem to bother waiting for any applause (which didn't come), and simply grabbed Starscream and Soundwave, pulling them towards herself.

"Shake hands, dummies," she hissed, before stepping back.

Soundwave looked Starscream straight in the eye, and held out a thin hand, which Starscream accepted dubiously. As they gave a slow shake, Soundwave muttered in a low, monotone voice, repeating Starscream's words from seconds before. "Going on."

* * *

"Xandra Farn."

Knock Out blinked, and then his optics widened. He was surrounded, _surrounded_, by _humans_! "_What_…?" He stepped back a little, and his servo brushed his leg. Then the full horror of the situation hit him… He was human, surrounded by humans, in the human world, everything was _human_!

He was hyperventilating, and probably would've started shouting if a hand hadn't grabbed his shoulder, startling him. "Relax," a human mech muttered. "You aren't certified dead yet."

"_What_?" Knock Out jerked himself from the young male's grasp, and turned to glare furiously at him. The human held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, but his face seemed more sympathetic than surprised, scared or angry.

Knock Out turned away from the boy, his servos– hands continuing to pat himself over as if trying to confirm if this horrible reality was truth, all the while his optics scanning his surroundings thoroughly, his venting slowing as he tried to calm himself.

He was surrounded by a large crowd of youngling mechs, some of whom had turned an eye on Knock Out, but most were looking at a large stage which was mounted before them. A young human femme was slowly walking up the stage steps, clutching the sides of her… what were those clothes called? A dress? Anyway, the femme's eyes were wide, her lips pursed, as she climbed onstage and stood beside a very tall older femme who was dressed entirely in white and red. Pit, even her slagging skin seemed to be painted white.

There were cameras mounted everywhere, most of them focused on the girl as she hung her head. Knock Out had seen that posture in a few war veterans, the ones who often came to his medical bay in the days before the war of Cybertron. The ones who had just given up. Sitting in the background of the stage was an official, grim looking man, and a slightly younger man, who was examining his servos in an idle manner.

"Now the boys!" the red and white femme said in a ridiculous voice that could've rivaled Starscream.

Starscream… Knock Out felt like he had seen that seeker moments before he had woken up in this depressing, bland and not at all attractive world. Funny, he'd remembered Nevada actually being a bit brighter.

The woman walked slowly over to a glass bowl filled with those white slips that were derived from trees. Humans didn't normally wear those ridiculously tall shoes, right? Knock Out had seen enough videos to know. The woman hovered her hand over the bowl, and Knock Out practically heard the males around him tense. Then, the woman plunged her hand into the bowl, and pulled out a slip of paper. Giving a simpering smile, she wobbled over to the speaker in the center of the stage.

Slowly, she unfolded the slip of paper. "Kyle Flare!" she announced.

Knock Out honestly didn't have a single idea what was going on, especially when the crowd around him separated, all of them staring at… him. The bot-turned-human looked around, utterly bewildered.

The boy who had grabbed his shoulder shrugged slightly. "Really sorry," he muttered.

"What?" Knock Out was utterly lost. But, when a human clothed in white armor grabbed his shoulder, his survival instincts kicked in. "Don't touch me!" he snapped, shaking his shoulder out of the human's grasp. He backed away, hoping to perhaps meld with the crowd, make his escape, but they parted like metal filaments from an opposite polarity magnet. Two humans walked over to him, dressed in identical armor. Knock Out jumped as their servos locked about his upper arms, an iron grip he couldn't get out of.

"Unhand me!" Knock Out cried, digging his feet into the dirt, but that only led to him being bodily dragged down the path, kicking and fighting with all his might, which wasn't that great (curse this inferior human body). Never had Knock Out wished more for his electro-staff, or, better yet, Breakdown. Knock Out stumbled forward as they pulled him onto the platform, shoving him forward. Knock Out spun around, but the raised batons halted him, and he turned to the strange red and white woman, who still had that fixed smile on her face that showed too many denta to be real.

"Volunteers?" No one spoke to the woman's odd query. "Very well!" The official man stood up, and began to speak of a history Knock Out had never heard of on the puny planet, of wars and dictators and tributes and such. It did explain his situation however, but not how he got there, why he was human, and where his comrades were, if they were here at all.

The mayor made a motion that Knock Out didn't understand. The mech turned human stared at him uncomprehendingly. The girl, Xandra her name was, muttered under her breath, then reached out and grabbed his serv-_hand_, moving it up and down. Oh, the strange human custom of shaking hands. Knock Out recoiled a little, pulling his hand back, but the short handshake seemed to be enough.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" exclaimed the strange woman as she forcefully turned them to the crowd. "Your tributes of District Six!"

* * *

"Scully Alias."

Who? What? Where? Oh, scrap, where the slag was he? A series of questions that ran sharply through Smokescreen's processor as he woke up to… one of the most depressing scenes since Praxus. He was surrounded by a bunch of human boys, some of them no older than Jack or Raf. They were muttering something, staring at a large stage presented before them, on which an older human femme, who was almost literally shining like gold (no slag, her hair, skin and clothing seemed to be comprised of gold and yellow) was standing. She had a smile way too big for her face, which she was directing towards a tall girl, who was slowly stalking onto the stage with a dark look on her face to counter the smile.

Smokescreen blinked. "What the…?" He cut off, fully assessing the situation. He was about as tall as some of the young mechs surrounding him. Even if he was young by Cybertronian standards, that didn't mean that he was that _small_.

He was human. Oh, slag, he was human! The Elite Guard quickly pat himself down. Armor, gone. Weapons, gone. Doorwings, gone, and that was most unnerving because those doorwings had added a lifelong sense of balance typical in a Praxian.

Venting rapidly, Smokescreen began to panic a little. Whatever boot camp had trained for, it hadn't been for this. The golden woman was saying something about volunteers, but Smokescreen was hardly paying attention. His servo– hand instinctively clutched something metal that was clinking gently on his chest. He frowned, and glanced at it.

It was a pair of dog tags, like those that the humans in the army wore. Only his had Cybertronian letters on it; _Smokescreen, Autobot Elite Guard_, and other simple info.

With this, Smokescreen began to relax. Ok, so he wasn't entirely himself, but he wasn't entirely not either. He just had to stay calm in the situation, and assess said situation.

"Hey…" Smokescreen leaned away from a boy about his height, who was muttering at him. "If you're finished acting like a girl, you could look and see if you're really that screwed." He turned away, looking back at the stage, oblivious to the scowl that Smokescreen was sending him.

"Oh, yeah…?" Smokescreen was about to give a retort, when he realized that he didn't have the sufficient amount information to come up with a reasonable one concerning the situation. So, for once, the young bot-turned-human shut his mouth, and turned to the stage.

The golden woman was standing by a glass bowl filled with paper. There was a glass bowl on the other side of the stage, but everyone was looking at the woman, who smiled that weird smile. "Let's see who our young gentleman will be, shall we?" She inserted her hand into the bowl, flicking around the paper carelessly, until she finally decided to pick one. Then, she waved the paper at the crowd, which Smokescreen realized largely consisted of young males on his side, and young females on the other.

The woman walked over to the speaker in the center of the stage. "Isn't this exciting?" she whispered. There was no response, but the boy who had spoken to Smokescreen scoffed. The woman then unfolded the paper, and directed her next words at the male crowd.

"Smoke Escren."

The words were so much like his own designation that Smokescreen was jolted for a moment. How did these strange humans know his name? But he realized it couldn't be his name, even though no human he knew would give their youngling a name like that… and, the crowd around him was staring directly at him.

"What?" he said nervously.

"Looks like you're screwed after all," the boy who'd talked to him said quietly.

"_What_?" Smokescreen said again, more incredulously. There was a big piece of information here he was missing, and right now that missing piece seemed to be vital to his slagging survival, judging by the way everyone was looking at them.

"Well?" The golden woman laughed a small, lighthearted, but fake laugh. "Come on up, dear."

Smokescreen just stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then, an odd tingle at the back of his mind, which felt akin to the sensors on his doorwings, made him turn his head. A tall human dressed in white armor then put a hand on his shoulder, shoving him forward.

"Hey!" Smokescreen glared at the human – assuming it was human, because they were wearing a helmet that completely covered their face, making them something akin to a white human-sized vehicon – clenching his fist.

Every indignant impulse was telling Smokescreen to fight back, but several more vehicon-humans were starting to come down on him. Smokescreen may be weaponless, but he was an excellent hand-to-hand combatant. But, several nagging memories of lectures from Arcee, Bulkhead and Optimus came to mind, and Smokescreen forced himself to submit.

"Ok… Ok." Putting his hands up, Smokescreen slowly backed away. Then, he turned, and walked tentatively onto the stage. Well, he didn't feel like a target of every stare up there. Even the tall girl on the other side of the stage was staring at him with a 'what the slag were you thinking?' kind of look.

Luckily, a man, standing up from a chair, took center stage as the golden woman stepped down, drawing all attention to him. Smokescreen's hand clenched and unclenched as he continued assessing his surroundings. Admittedly, the place smelled very bad. There were many animals dotting the wide landscape, mainly those that were called cows. Probably the source of the bad smell. There were cameras, a lot of them, most of them focused on the man in the center of the stage, the one who called himself the mayor.

And what the 'mayor' had to say was interesting… But admittedly unnerving. A big war that sounded like something from Cybertron. Eventual, tragic end, though the mayor made this… Capitol Panem sound like a hero for destroying an entire district filled with lives (in his defense, he sounded rather dull about it). And now there was this whole Gladiatorial Pits-esq thing happening and…

Smokescreen's head whipped around to stare at the mayor. Since when did humans do gladiatorial games, except in very ancient times? And since when did they send younglings to fight?

"And so, our tributes for this year's Hunger Games." The mayor stepped back, and spread his arms.

Then Smokescreen realized, he was the tribute, or one of them. He was to participate in this… Hunger Games. The revelation was rather startling, and he stumbled back a little. Smokescreen would've fallen, but strong arms caught him, and pushed him upright again.

"Keep it together, kid," said the man who had caught Smokescreen, his voice low and stern. He had very piercing brown eyes that assessed Smokescreen critically. Smokescreen wondered if it would be appropriate for him to stand to attention; it certainly felt like getting assessed by the sarge. But, the man simply jerked his head to the side.

Turning to see where he was indicating, Smokescreen tried to ignore the amount of stares that peppered him yet again. The tall girl was standing by the center stage, also staring at Smokescreen again, this time with a bleak, 'Primus, you're dead' look. Not sure what to do, Smokescreen walked over.

The girl stuck out her hand emotionlessly. Smokescreen took her hand, and shook it once, which seemed all she wanted before she pulled her hand back. Then, the golden woman stepped forward, and spread her arms to touch both Smokescreen and the girl's shoulders.

"Thus, our tributes from District Ten!"

Scrap, what the frag had he just gotten himself into?

* * *

"Arcee Escout."

Wait, what? Arcee blinked. _W_. And looked about. She was in a group of girls, ranging from young as Raf to older than Miko. All of them wore worn, scoured clean garments, and their faces were thin and starved. And all were looking at her. Arcee looked down at herself. She was in a human body! Oh Primus, what was happening!

"Come on, darling." Arcee looked up to a dusty stage, on which stood a blue clad woman, smiling endearingly. And Primus, she was really blue. From her dress to her ridiculously large hair, she didn't look normal. At all.

Arcee just stared at her, not saying anything. Then, a hand poked her back, causing Arcee to stumble forward. She glanced over to a pair of approaching men in identical, full body armor, their manner threatening. "What?" Arcee snapped.

"Come onto the stage, darling," the woman said. She had a high, happy voice, but it seemed to quaver a little when Arcee turned a glare on her.

"Where-?" Arcee's question was cut off when two of the white armored men grabbed her arms. Acting instinctively, Arcee used the restraining arms to her advantage, pushing herself up, and kicking the men in the ribs. This seemed to startle them (the armor was hardly dented), and they let go of her.

Arcee backed away, eyes narrowing dangerously, fists clenched in readiness. She didn't like this situation at all. There were humans everywhere, but this didn't look like earth! This didn't look at all like Nevada. Then, several more white armored men started approaching, only this time they held batons. Arcee took a deep vent, calming herself down.

This was not a war situation. This was not her world. She was someone else here. Her name had been called, though she had never lived with a surname as humans did. And whoever Arcee Escout was, she was expected to follow whatever new rules there were in this place… And judging by the hostiles, and the nervous invitation ("Please come onto the stage, darling.") she should go onstage. Arcee did so, lowering her arms, and walking up the steps with the hostiles flanking her, though they did not touch her. The woman flashed her another smile, though this one was a little nervous, then one to the crowd of weary humans below them.

"Well, don't we have a… spirited candidate this year. Volunteers?" the woman asked cheerfully. There was no response, everyone was just starting at Arcee with wide and very surprised eyes. "No? And on to the boys." She tottered over to a glass bowl of paper slips.

Arcee watched her calculatingly, wondering what kind of dream she had fallen into. The woman drew out a slip after a dramatic rummaging. With a bright smile, she unfolded it. The smile wavered for just a second. "Ooh, this is a turn! Bryan Escout!" Arcee jolted. Wait, what? Another child in this dream had her surname.

On the ground, the crowd of boys split apart to reveal a confused and fearful looking boy of about fourteen, with blond hair and wide blue eyes, looking about him. Then his eyes locked on Arcee's, and she knew immediately who this was.

"Well, child? Come on up!" the blue woman called, gesturing to the boy. Arcee nodded as he sent her an uncertain look, and he allowed the hostiles to take him to the stage. Once onstage, he ran over to her, and Arcee placed her hands on his shoulders, bending to his height, searching his face.

" 'Bee?" she asked in a quiet voice. He nodded, and opened his mouth, but no sound came. Arcee shook her head, gathering the young boy to her, something she hadn't done since he was a youngling, the yellow bot having grown larger than her in his final frame.

Arcee was simply glad that there was someone familiar in this odd dream, though she knew for sure this wasn't a dream. Which begged the question, again, where the slag were they?

"Well…" The woman seemed uncertain, and there was a sad sounding murmur going throughout the crowd, which seemed to consist mainly of younglings, both male and female. "Brother and sister, yes?"

Arcee pulled back, and looked at her, confused for a moment. Then she realized that in this world, with their same last names, it was only logical for them to be related. "Family," Arcee said, nodding.

"Well, how about that?" The woman in blue smiled, though it was rather insincere. "And, of course the mayor will present the Treaty of Treason." She sauntered over, those… high heels clacking on the stage boards, and separated Arcee and Bumblebee, placing the humanized femme on one side and the young mech on the other.

Taking place on the center stage with the speaker was a weary looking man who began a long drone about a war. Arcee did what she did best as a scout; stay silent, listen and watch. She could tell 'Bee was doing the same. Arcee caught sight of one more figure on the stage; a rather scruffy looking middle-aged man, who was passed out in a chair. In his hand he held a bottle of what was probably spirits. The man had the look of a high-grade addict, only… human.

Arcee listened to the 'mayor', her face blank as she heard about the war, so like the one that had torn down the Youngling Centre Bumblebee had been in. Districts, a punishing massacre, and a Tribunal Hunger Games where younglings killed one another. A reminder of the war and its consequences, and a clear controlling tactic.

Arcee knew it; they were not in Nevada anymore.

When hearing that she and Bumblebee were to be the two fighters of this particular… district who would take part in the games, Arcee sent him a sharp glance, which he exchanged at the same time. What the slag had gotten them into this situation?

When the mayor had finished, he stepped down from the center stage. There was a second or so of awkwardness as Arcee didn't know what to do. "Shake his hand, dear," the woman in blue whispered.

Slowly, Arcee walked forward. Bumblebee, apparently deciding to follow her example, did the same. They shook hands. Arcee felt a small squeeze, and saw 'Bee's brow furrow with a confident determination. She smiled a little.

The woman in blue then took center stage. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said into the speaker. "Our tributes from District Twelve!"

There was a sudden roar as the passed out man suddenly awoke, standing up from his chair abruptly. "What?" he shouted, stumbling about. Then, he saw Bumblebee and Arcee under his hair, which fell about his face messily. "Oh, yeah!" he said, words slurred but loud. Seriously, he was shouting like he wanted the world to hear him. He pointed vaguely at the two of them, wobbling a little where he stood. "Congrats, welcome to death!" He took a swig from his bottle.

Bumblebee turned his wide eyed face from the man to Arcee, who had a similar look on her face. Really… What. The slag. Was going on?

**A/N HardyGal: What the slag have I done? Thank you to my sister, Neon, for writing Arcee and Bumblebee's part. Now, let's see where this is going.**


	2. Things Gone And Means Of Finding Them

**Chapter Two: Thing Gone And Means Of Finding Them**

"So, what exactly happened?"

Ratchet groaned. "I swear to Primus that I will quit this project if I hear that question one more time!"

"But Arcee never picked me up!" Jack said indignantly. "I have to at least know what happened to her!"

"Same for Bumblebee!" said Raf, clearly anxious about his guardian.

There was just a second or two of silence, before Miko suddenly said, "I suppose Smokey doesn't have a spokesperson. Ok, then… Smokescreen isn't anywhere around either!"

"Look, all Bulkhead said when he picked us up was that Arcee and 'Bee were gone," Jack said, his voice calmer now. "Smokescreen along with them. What exactly happened?"

Ratchet sighed, looking up from his work again. "A question asked by Wheeljack, Bulkhead, Optimus and the commander. Who next, Agent Fowler?"

"Hey, doc! I heard some bots went MIA last night. What exactly happened?"

"Ugh!" Ratchet smashed a fist in his project table, making the kids jump. "So help me, I will renew my wrench throwing days!" The old medic took a deep vent, and forced himself to relax. "Yes, Smokescreen, Arcee and Bumblebee have disappeared."

Fowler walked over to stand next to the kids, who were looking down remorsefully. "What exactly happened?" the agent asked.

Ratchet sighed, going back to his work as he spoke. "Last night we detected an Iacon locator beacon."

"What?" Jack said in surprise.

"But I thought Optimus had decoded all the Iacon entries a long time ago," said Raf. "We've already found all the relics."

"Yes, yes," Ratchet said impatiently. "Perhaps part of the entires had been damaged, perhaps it was never listed, at this point figuring this great mystery is not top priority. Anyway, we detected an Iacon locator beacon. The Stealth Team had been sent to check on it. What they found could not be removed, and none of them recognized it, not even Smokescreen. This sounded interesting to me, and so I 'bridged over to analyze it."

Ratchet pointed to a blue, lapis lazuli like stone, sitting on his work table. "A crystal of some sort, one that I did not recognize." The medic looked up from his work to turn back to the humans. "In short, every high-ranking Decepticon officer, and Knock Out, was interested in this last relic. We were not prepared for an attack from Starscream, Soundwave and Shockwave, we were to 'bridge out of there. But, after our groundbridge appeared, a pulse from Shockwave hit the crystal embedded in the rock. After I regained my senses, most of the crystal was decimated, and Smokescreen, Arcee, Bumblebee, Soundwave, Knock Out and Starscream were gone."

"Gone?" Miko echoed.

Ratchet picked up the blue crystal. It wasn't exactly energon blue, it was a deeper color, and seemed more solid. "Gone," he repeated. "I managed to retrieve this last piece, at near cost of my life. Shockwave was still online. Further analysis has led me to realize that this crystal is a rare relic from the Thirteen Primes."

"What does it do?" asked Raf.

"And does it have something to do with the bots disappearing?" said Fowler.

"Put through the right procedures, one can use this crystal to create a device that can enable one to travel through space, time, and universes," explained Ratchet, putting down the crystal and going back to his work. "Yes, I believe that the explosion combined with the transporting energy of the groundbridge might've transported our missing bots into another universe."

"There are other universes?" Jack said incredulously.

"Why not?" said Ratchet. "I suppose there might be a universe where we Cybertronians do not even exist. A universe where everything seems different, due to the fact that people have chosen different paths, have made different choices than the ones here. A universe where your acclaimed superheroes might even exist. A universe where everything is opposite. A universe where Cybertronians live as humans instead. Scrap, there might be a universe where the Autobots are the warlords."

"That's a scary idea," Miko commented.

"So you're saying that the missing bots could be anywhere, scattered throughout numerous, flat-out crazy, unfamiliar universes?" said Fowler.

"Is there a way to get them back?" Raf asked anxiously.

"If we are lucky, our missing bots might all be in the same universe," said Ratchet. "Not even Alpha Trion knew everything about this crystal, and I'm afraid I do not hold the knowledge to be able to create a universe jumping device. However, I do believe I might be able to create a device that can take our bots out of whatever universe they are in and back to where they belong."

Ratchet indicated to the device he was making. It looked like a sideways, miniature tesla coil, with a small satellite dish attached to it. The coil was connected to the groundbridge controls, as well as the main computer.

"We are uniquely tuned to our universe," said Ratchet. "We were made in it, we belong in it. Using this device, I can use the computer to detect anomalies in other universes. Anything out of tune with a certain universe does not truly belong there. After a sleepless night, a foreseeable more sleepless nights and days, I will be able to use the crystal's properties to help detect our missing bots, and bring them back."

**A/N HardyGal: Thank you, Fringe. I am in no way a science major, and I recognize that I have several unexplained holes in Ratchet's explanation. But I really don't care. This is just a chapter about how the 'Bots and 'Cons got to where they are. This fic is about what they do in where they are.**


	3. (Autobots in) Custody

Chapter Three: (Autobots in) Custody

**A/N HardyGal: So, I'm researching more about the Hunger Games to help my writing, my consciousness comfortably aware and sure that the 63rd Games hasn't been canonly written about. Suddenly, 'Oh, shoot, Gloss won the 63rd Hunger Games.' Ok, so Gloss is in here, but I control the arena! I control what the heck is gonna go on! Yeah, Gloss'll win, but whatever.**

Arcee sat down on the velvet couch. It was velvet, right? It looked like velvet. But the touch, oh, gosh, it felt so… fluffy. As a Cybertronian, Arcee could feel some things. Hard, soft, smooth, rough, cold, hot, solid, liquid, pain. But she couldn't truly feel the texture of an object. The smoothness of the hood of a muscle car. The uncomfortable roughness of a cliff face. And the soft touch of velvet.

It was a bit addicting, and Arcee resisted the urge to bury her face in the couch - her face felt the most sensitive other than her hands when it came to the feeling of texture. But that was unprofessional, and she had to think through this situation.

She remembered the relic, the fight, the explosion. And then she'd woken up into this strange and hostile world. Arcee did not know what had happened, but thus far, she and 'Bee seemed out of danger. Except for the fact that they were about to enter a gladiatorial fight to the death.

Suddenly, the Autobot warrior stiffened, sitting up sharply. "Smokescreen…!" she exclaimed. The young Elite Guard had been with them during the explosion. Arcee bent over, pressing the heel of her hand against the bridge of her nose. "Ratchet…" So had their medic.

Of course, Bumblebee had been there, seeing as he was with her now. Which led her to wonder where Smokescreen and Ratchet were. Were they also in this strange nightmare? If they were, it might be too late to find them now. Arcee couldn't care less about the 'Cons they'd been fighting. It they were here or if they weren't, she really didn't care.

Well, Bumblebee wasn't with her right now. After the two former bots had been declared 'the tributes of District Twelve', the white clad humans had led the two of them into a large building. Bumblebee had seemed ready to fight, but had received a sharp blow to the jaw when he had refused to listen and retaliated when they tried to force him. Arcee had quickly gestured to him to go with it, and he'd obeyed, glaring at the humans.

Then, once inside, they had been separated. Arcee had waved reassuringly at Bumblebee, who's uncertainty seemed to have returned at this development, before she had been locked in a rather nice room.

Nice didn't mean it was any less a prison, however. Arcee wondered what she was doing in here. It had been ten minutes or so and nothing had happened. Maybe this was meant to unnerve one before they were shoved into the gladiatorial games.

Well, while she was 'stewing', she might as well know what she looked like as a human.

Standing up from the velvet couch, Arcee went to stand in front of a mildly stained mirror. She blinked at her reflection.

"Not too bad," she muttered with a smirk. It wasn't as though she thought that June or Miko were bad looking (though June looked more professional), but she had honestly preferred her bot form a lot more. But this new human form wasn't too bad.

She was about as tall as Jack and June had been, with a figure similar to her bot form, just human. Her skin was a pale tan. She was wearing a dress, which dropped a little beyond her knees. It was dark blue, with pink straps over her shoulders (no sleeves). There was pink lining the bottom of the dress as well, and a silver ribbon around her waist, tied in a bow in the back. It was a simple dress, with a few dark spots which tasted like coal, but not bad.

Arcee ran a hand through her hair, feeling an odd tingle in her scalp as she did so. Her hair was brown, but not long like June's, nor even reaching her shoulder blades like Miko. It was shaved close to her head, almost in a human military cut, but not cut so close that one could see her scalp. Of course, she retained her purple blue eyes. Also, she looked about as old as Jack, which was odd considering that she was around twenty-something years in human terms.

The femme-turned-human shrugged, smirking a little. Suddenly, the door into the room opened, and she spun around, instinctively in fighting position. But she quickly resorted to just standing straight when someone walked in.

It was the mayor of this place. He looked dull and grim, and the door was closed behind him when he stepped into the room. Arcee just stared at him, and he stared back.

Then, he coughed. "I noticed no one was coming to say goodbye," he said.

"Well, I'm new here," Arcee said slowly.

"You've lived here your whole life," the mayor said, raising an eyebrow. "Surely you know some people here."

Arcee shrugged, not sure how to respond to this. Apparently, when she'd come into this world, it had adapted to her, probably creating a history that she herself didn't know.

"Don't you have a family?" the mayor asked.

Arcee rotated her jaw. "They're not around," she said carefully.

The mayor simply nodded knowingly. "So your brother is all that's left."

"…Yes." Might as well go along with this. Who would believe that she came from a completely different world, where she lived as a thousand year old extraterrestrial robot?

"Good luck out there," the mayor said. "I hope your brother dies by another hand."

Arcee frowned. "What makes you so sure we're going to die?"

The mayor stared at her, looking mildly surprised. "Perhaps…" he muttered, turning away. "Yes, you are very… spirited." He turned to Arcee with narrowed eyes. "Why and how did you fight back?" His voice wasn't grim and muttered anymore, but a subtle mixture of incredulousness and awe.

Arcee just stared at him, not sure how to answer that. Of course, everyone was probably expected to obey and follow through into the games. But it was the 'how' part of the question that didn't make sense. "I… I wasn't very…" She pursed her lips a moment trying to phrase her words right. "I wasn't feeling myself then. I was scared, I guess." Well, it wasn't really a lie.

The mayor inclined his head, seemingly skeptical. "Well… I have never, ever said this before, but I believe you might just win."

Arcee wasn't sure if this was a compliment or not, for the man looked very grim again. But there was the barest hint of an encouraging gleam. "Ok," was all Arcee said.

"Well," the mayor said suddenly. "I believe my time is up." At that moment, a white clad human poked his helmeted head into the room and gestured for the mayor to exit.

With that, the mayor nodded at Arcee, and left the room. And again Arcee was alone.

* * *

Bumblebee found himself bouncing his leg. It was a nervous habit that he'd grown out of after he'd been promoted from messenger to scout when he'd joined Optimus Prime. One of the best moments of his life. Also he'd had his voice then.

It had been disappointing to realize that he still couldn't speak in this human form. But the reason was something different, and mildly horrifying.

_ 'Primus, where's my glossa?'_

The young scout place a hand over his mouth. Humans needed a tongue in order to talk. What the slag had happened to him in this life that would have his tongue missing?

But then, it seemed like asking what the slag had happened to him in his real life that would have his voice box missing? It was best not to ask, Bumblebee didn't like to talk (so to speak) about it. And he would rather not know about what his life was like in this Pit inspired world.

Bumblebee caught sight of a mirror on his right, and turned in his seat to look at his reflection, lowering his hand. Well, he was human, no surprises there. Around the age of Miko, perhaps younger, with a rather pale skin tone. His hair was light blond, and long enough to keep falling in front of his bright blue optical sensors. Eyes. He was small, but fairly built, not large, but not thin either.

He was wearing a faded yellow shirt, the kind that had buttons down the front. The buttons in question were black, and there was a pocket on his left pectoral with black lining. The bottom of the shirt, and the collar, was black. He also wore gray pants.

Bumblebee wondered how humans coped with these clothes brushing their skin constantly. He felt a little awkward for some reason. But new priorities quickly took hold of his mind. For one, what was happening to Arcee? Was she locked in a room, like him, waiting for who knows what? For that matter, what was happening to Smokey and Ratchet? Were they even in this world? Bumblebee suspected that the explosion after the fight with the 'Cons had something to do with he and Arcee being here, which meant that said 'Cons, as well as Smokescreen and Ratchet, were most likely in this world as well.

But where? Was Raf alright? Oh, man, what would he think when he didn't come to pick him up from school?

Suddenly, the door opened, startling the young scout, who stood up sharply. A woman with blond hair, a slightly darker tone than Bumblebee's, quickly stepped into the room. The door shut behind her. Without saying anything she grasped Bumblebee by the shoulders, and sat the bewildered mech-turned-human down.

The woman was on her knees in front of him, hands still grasping his shoulders, looking up into his face. She gently took his jaw between her fingers. "Open," she said gently.

Bumblebee obeyed. The woman moved her head about slightly as she stared into his mouth. She smiled a little, shutting his mouth. "It's been healing very nicely," she said. "I'm glad you've been feeling better, Bryan. It doesn't hurt anymore, right?"

Bumblebee didn't feel any sort of pain right now. He shook his head.

"Good," the woman said.

Her soft smile faded, and her eyes shone slightly, the same way Raf's did whenever he was about to cry. Bumblebee didn't like it when humans cried. Cybertronians could feel all the emotions that would cause a human to cry, but they couldn't cry themselves. And when humans cried, oftentimes it felt as though your spark would break for them.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I'm really sorry."

Bumblebee knew she was most likely talking about the games he was to enter. He didn't know how to tell her… anything. He didn't know anything about the games at all, and on top of that, he couldn't talk. So, he just shook his head a little, shrugging. This just seemed to upset her more, and tears threatened to spill over. Bumblebee then did the thing he sometimes did for Raf when he was upset. He put a hand on her head, brushing her hair back slightly.

This startled her, and she looked up. His brow furrowed for a moment, trying to think of a way to tell her not to cry. Then, he pointed at both her eyes, tracing down her cheeks, and shook his head. She inclined her head slightly, a new curiosity in her eyes.

"Ok," she said simply, nodding. She licked her lips, and stood up. "I think my time will be up soon." There was a second of silence. "My second daughter officially turned one a month or two ago," she said finally. "Katniss loves her. Do you remember Katniss?" she asked 'Bee. "She was that little girl who always peeked around the corner when you first came to me, after your… accident."

Bumblebee did not know Katniss, but he gained a bit of information on this woman. Apparently after his unknown 'accident' he had been brought to her. Perhaps she was a medic of some sort. Bumblebee decided just to nod.

"Well, she dotes on her little sister," the woman said with a smile. "It is nice to know that she will most likely do anything for her." Then, she began to look slightly absent. "Most likely…"

The door opened, and one of the white clad humans indicated towards the woman. "Goodbye," she said quietly, before leaving the room.

Well, he was alone again. But he had a bit to think about now.

* * *

This felt weird. This felt wrong. This did not feel good. This felt like the time Smokescreen had been captured after the attack on Iacon. Seemingly tossed aside. Seemingly forgotten. Several differences though.

He was human instead of a bot. He was relatively free instead of restrained. He was in a pretty nice room instead of a dull transport ship. He was alone instead of having the company of the other prisoners. Yeah, but, other than that, Smokescreen had that same feeling of confusion and dread. But at this point, Smokescreen would've taken the capture by the 'Cons over this. At least he relatively knew what those guys were about. Right now, he had nothing on the current situation.

Ok, so he was a human to take part in these Hunger Games. Great. But after the whole shaking of hands thing, he had been brought into this room. Who knew where the girl was (Smokescreen had kind of forgotten her name). Why was he in this room? That was a very good question that Smokescreen wanted answered.

Yeah, the door was closed. And locked. Smokescreen had hurt his shoulder banging it against the door. And then the vehicon-humans came in and told him to 'sit his ass down' and wait.

Wait for what? Smokescreen didn't know. But fighting his way out didn't seem the smartest choice. The vehicon-humans outnumbered him big time, and they were probably a lot more competent than Vehicons as well.

So he waited. And waited. And waited. He paced. He fidgeted. He wondered where Ratchet, 'Bee and Arcee were. Had they survived the explosion during the relic hunt? How did he get into this strange nightmare? Were the others in it too? What had happened to the 'Cons? What had that relic been? Smokescreen didn't recognize it, and he'd made a point to memorize every Iacon relic. Unless Alpha Trion saw it fit to keep some secrets secret. Maybe that relic had been one of those secrets.

Smokescreen wasn't good at staying still. He got very restless just sitting on the couch and began to pace the room. At some point, he examined his reflection in the mirror. Smokescreen smirked. "Hey, not bad."

He was young of course, maybe Miko's age if not slightly younger. He had a slightly dark tan. He had a good height and build, though his chest, arms and shoulders were leaner than they had been when he was a bot. No duh.

His optical sensors were blue of course, and his hair was brown, shaved down in what humans called a buzz cut (though it was in that 'growing out' stage).

Smokescreen was wearing a blue short sleeved shirt, with white and yellow lining the collar, the cuffs (which felt a little uncomfortable pressing around Smokescreen's upper arms) and the bottom of the shirt. His pants were a light grey. And of course he had his dog tags.

After examining himself for a minute or so, Smokescreen started pacing again. He was starting to go a little stir crazy. Suddenly, the door opened. "Escren!"

Smokescreen spun around, the words "Yes, sir?" coming out of his mouth automatically.

The man standing in front of him was tall, but rather thin. His cheeks were sunken slightly. His skin was darker than Smokescreen's, and streaked with sweat. He removed a hat, and raised an eyebrow at Smokescreen. "Sir. Never let up, do you, Escren?"

Smokescreen wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. "No, sir…?"

"Well, your train is leaving soon, and I found out you didn't have any visitors," said the man. "I figured no one ought to leave for this… death game without having at least one person from home saying goodbye. You always seemed fairly confident, Escren, but you never really got to know anyone. What's your deal?"

Smokescreen didn't know who this guy was, but apparently _he_ knew _him_. "I don't really belong here," he blurted out."

"Like hell you don't," the man said in agreement. Smokescreen stared at him in surprise. How could this guy know…? "You belong on the fields, ranching with the rest of the boys. Great action going on there, even though all those cattle end up going to _them_. And you're going to them too now, Escren, and I'm sorry about that."

It would be seriously understating it if one simply said Smokescreen didn't exactly know what the man was talking about. "I don't really mind," Smokescreen muttered, not sure what else to say.

" 'Don't really mind'?" the man repeated incredulously. He snapped his fingers in Smokescreen's face. "You're entering a game you're likely never come out of, boy, you damn well better mind." He gripped Smokescreen's shoulders. "You're a strong kid, but not up to the level of One, Two or Four."

"Three," Smokescreen said.

"What?"

"You forgot three." He had thought the man was putting him on a scale when it came to his abilities, and while Smokescreen was insulted that the man thought he didn't reach any number, he decided to point out the number the man had missed. Apparently, the man was talking about something else.

He scoffed. "Three's got too much smarts, too little combat, but they've been better fed than you, I'll give you that."

"Ok…" Smokescreen didn't know what else to say.

The man sighed, hands falling off the young Elite Guard's shoulders. "I really am upset to see you go, Escren. You're a good kid, and one of my top boys."

The door opened, and a vehicon-human indicated towards the man. Without saying anything more, the man put on his hat, and left the room.

"Well, that was encouraging," Smokescreen muttered sarcastically.

**A/N HardyGal: Confused? You know as much as the 'Bots.**


	4. (Decepticons in) Custody

Chapter Four: (Decepticons in) Custody

**A/N HardyGal: I know you people are out there. I see you. You're looking at this fic. So why are there no reviews? I know you're out there. Review. Or I will find you. Oh, and cookies for my one follower and three reviewers, you guys are the best people ever.**

"Of all the fraggers! Damn the Autobots, damn Starscream, damn Shockwave…! Damn them all to Pit!" Knock Out was not in a good mood.

After shaking hands with the Xandra femme, she and Knock Out had been lead into a large building, where Knock Out was promptly locked in a room. He thought about trying to break out, but there was no way to do so without possibly hurting himself. So, he spent most of his time swearing.

After awhile spent pacing, throwing his arms in the air, groaning about his finish, and swearing some more, Knock Out calmed down a bit. First, what did he look like? That was very important. There was a mirror on the door, and he examined himself seriously. "Hmm… I'd still rather have my finish back, but I do look fairly presentable."

Human age put him at about sixteen years. He was kind of small for the age he was, he could tell. Oh, well, nothing new. He was very small for a 'Con as it was. Right now, though, he actually liked that his chest and shoulders were smaller than they had been in bot form. If he were to run, he might find it a lot easier without his slightly top heavy shoulders. Knock Out's complexion was very pale, in contrast with his dark red hair, which spiked in the front. His eyes were a bright auburn, a reddish brown.

What Knock Out wore was a white long sleeved shirt, which was folded up to his elbows, and a blood red sweater vest pulled on over it. His pants were dark grey. Yes, he looked fabulous.

Second priority, he tried to remember what had happened before he had woken up to this nightmare.

Relic. Yep, there was a relic. And of course the Autobots. And Shockwave, Soundwave, Starscream. A groundbridge or two. A stray shot from Shockwave, and BOOM! Knock Out was here.

The medic launched into another frenzy of swearing. After he had calmed down (again), Knock Out moved onto the next priority: the situation. Ok, so he had been listening to the speech from the mayor human. Disgusted and panicked as he was, Knock Out wasn't stupid. He knew that the best thing to do in an unknown and possibly hostile environment was to look and listen.

The situation: past war, practically destroyed earth, decimated district, a game. Knock Out had watched enough human films to recognize the typical post-war look of an earth, and this was it. He had been transported into an alternate future earth. That was the only possible explanation, as Knock Out was sure that no humans participated in gladiatorial games, at least in this era. Also, he was a human. Definitely an alternate earth.

And he was a human to participate in these gladiatorial-esq games. Not good. Knock Out knew very well the history of Megatron, the history of the Gladiatorial Pits. It wasn't good. Knock Out knew that he hardly stood a chance in any gladiatorial games. Slaggit, he was a medic, not a warrior.

Knock Out started swearing again. This time, it only lasted a minutes, before he realized that these games involved human younglings. Sure, he was a human youngling himself right now, but he still retained the processor of a Decepticon bot. And while he wasn't a warrior, Knock Out definitely still knew how to fight. These human younglings probably weren't even in their final frames. Knock Out would survive easily against them.

With this thought in mind, Knock Out fell fully into calmness. He jolted when the door opened to admit a young woman, with hair the same shade as his own, wearing a simple but nice flower print dress. She smiled sadly at him.

"Well, this is it, Kyle." Um, she knew his human name. Who the frag was she? "Mum can't be here, they would just let me come." Knock Out watched the girl warily as she walked over and placed a soft servo on his shoulder, eyes searching his face. "You won't cry, Kyle," her voice was commanding. "I know, everyone knows, that you probably won't… won't survive. But don't cry. Just remember your big sister, huh? Remember Evan." She had his accent as well, but not as distinct as his own.

Knock Out inhaled a silent vent, and fell into the character this human girl seemed to expect him to have. He had to keep from recoiling from the servo on his shoulder. "Yes, of course, erm, _Evan_," he said slowly. "No… crying. Of course not."

Evan nodded, giving him a slight smile. "Good. Here, Kyle." She snatched up his hand and pressed an object into it. "It's your token. You asked for it the other week, remember? But it wasn't the right color."

Knock Out opened his hand and stared down dumbly at the object. "Yes, ah, the..."

"It's a model of the old bullet trains that they used to have," Evan said, frowning slightly. "Remember? You've always loved the old vehicles. So I got this one for you, painted it red, because it's your favorite color." Knock Out's new heart beat faster in a weirded out panic as the woman's eyes began to water as she looked down at the train in his hand. "I was gonna give it to you tonight, after everyone got home safe!"

"Yes, yes, I thank you for this… token," Knock Out said quickly. He awkwardly, after a moment of hesitation, pat her shoulder twice before drawing back. "And I'm sure that I shall come… home safely." By home, meaning back to his own universe, and by sure, meaning not sure at all.

Unfortunately, the gesture and the words just made the liquid in her optics come down faster. But at least she wasn't wailing as she looked back up at him. She made an odd, wet, inhaling sound with her olfactory organ. "You're… different," she said, her voice higher and slightly confused.

Knock Out wondered how to respond to this for a moment. "How?" was the word he decided to safely play. He was a little frustrated with how young his vocals were. He knew that he always preferred his voice as one of a full grown mech, his youngling voice was hard to take seriously.

"Well, it's not bad I guess," 'Evan' said. "You're not upset or… or panicking and stuff. But I guess you don't want people to notice you when you get… get into the games."

"No." Knock Out deduced that getting noticed probably wasn't good. He remembered the cameras. This was being televised, meaning that it was likely that his opponents would see him. And if this was a gladiatorial game, it was like the three sniperbots.

The less experienced sniper would survive in a three way shootout, as the two more experienced snipers would want to take out the more formidable opponent first, completely overlooking the smaller opponent.

"I'll be quiet, Evan." Her name came easier to his tongue now, being the actor he was. "They'll overlook me."

"Okay," Evan wiped away the tears. "Try to make a couple allies, okay Kyle? You won't survive long on your own." They both looked to the door as it opened, admitting the formidable white armored humans. Evan nodded submissively, allowing one to grab her elbow sharply. Evan called out to him as they led him away. "Be brave, Kyle! Be brave, and don't cry."

"I won't." Knock Out looked down at the miniature vehicle in his servo, brow furrowed a little.

* * *

Starscream still had claws. Humans called them nails, but whatever, they worked fine. Even if he/she received a smack to the face when she was being lead into the large building she was trapped in now for trying to use them.

Now, Starscream sat alone in a room, sulking. The sulking, however, hid a carefully contemplating processor.

Now, she had been vaguely aware of most of the… mayor's speech. War. Destruction. Games involving human younglings. Eh, whatever. Starscream knew that even in this pathetic, irritating, demeaning human femme form, he-she still retained a far more superior mind, as well as significant experience in combat.

That still didn't really make the situation any better, as Starscream cursed silently, twisting and fidgeting as he examined his form in a mirror.

He/she looked like a fairly mature youngling femme, like one who is only a little bit away from coming into their adult frame. She was rather tall and thin, with jet black hair that fell to her neck. A hard something was pressing on her head, pushing her hair back a little, and Starscream tapped on the something, which was bright red and plastic. She was wearing a… a dress. A tight white dress, which fell a little beyond her knees. The short sleeves were red, with grey stars, and she had a red ribbon of some sort around her waist.

Starscream growled in annoyance, ripping the irritating red thing off her head and throwing it at the door.

He/she then tapped a finger on her upper lip, thinking. She hoped she would be reunited with Soundwave again, so they might discuss the situation. Having once been a scientist, Starscream had a fair idea as to what had happened to land him here, remembering the situation before the current one.

He then realized he did not know where Knock Out or Shockwave were. Well, he didn't really care, just so long as he somehow managed to get home unscathed. And if he ever saw either the good doctor or the one eyed scientist, well, he had a few mechs to blame this situation on.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Starscream spun around with a sharp scream. A human femme then had Starscream in a tight chokehold, what the humans called a hug. It was meant to be a show of affection, but Starscream thought that she might possibly literally die from love.

The former seeker pushed the human femme back with a gasp, and stared at her in utter bewilderment. This didn't seem to faze the female though as she just bit her lip, clasping her hands, and bounced a little on her feet, clearly anxious and upset. The femme wore a purple and white bow in her blond hair, and wore a prim looking purple and black dress, with white sleeves. Behind her stood a human mech who looked a lot more sullen than the femme, but had an odd look in his eye that suggested regret. The human mech wore simple black pants, with white lining the pockets, and a blue dress shirt.

"Skye and I just wanted to say goodbye," the male said after a second or two of awkward silence, indicating towards the bouncy human femme as 'Skye'.

Starscream tried to quickly wrap this around his processor. So these two humans knew him. Somehow. Oh, Pit, what the slag was happening to his slagging life?

Apparently, Starscream didn't need to reply, because the female, Skye, suddenly started talking, her voice high and cracking. "Oh, Stella, I'm so sorry to see you go, Boomer and I will really miss you and all the stuff we made and did together…"

"And will I miss all your talking?" Starscream muttered before he could stop himself, and the girl cut off. She didn't seem hurt, quite the opposite. She broke into a smile.

"See, Stella, perhaps you can win this! You are Stella, after all." Starscream wasn't sure if this 'Skye' ever stayed on one emotion or subject for more than a minute.

The boy suddenly walked forward and hugged Starscream. Starscream almost screamed in disgust and pushed him away, but she realized that she would have to roll with this. She/he was human now, and no matter how disgusting that fact was, there was nothing to be gained by revealing who he really was. So, she let the human mech finish the hug.

The hug didn't last more than three seconds before the boy, Boomer, pulled back. He pat Starscream's shoulder, not looking her in the face. "Good luck, Stella," he muttered.  
Skye seized Boomer's arm. "We'll be watching you," she said encouragingly.

"We don't have a choice," Boomer said, still muttering.

"We'll be cheering for you."

"Not out loud."

"And you might even win!" Skye said excitedly, leaning in towards Starscream, still holding Boomer's arm. Boomer seemed to be trying to keep quiet and just gave a small smile of forced encouragement. Skye nudged him. "C'mon, Boomer, Faraday Summers won three years ago! She is bound to give Stella some good advice!"

Boomer made brief eye contact with Starscream, and there was a flicker of a genuine encouragement and hope. "Yeah, Stella," he said. "You're smart. You'll win."  
"You have to," added Skye.

Starscream was silent for a moment, before he realized that they wanted him to say something. She forced a smile. "Yes, I'll win."

"Good," Skye said. She hugged Starscream again quickly, before leaving.

Boomer stared at the door for a moment. "I thought I was the one who was going to leave without getting dismissed," he muttered, before turning back to Starscream.  
The two of them just stood there, until Starscream's agitation spilled over. "Ugh, stop staring!"

Boomer shrugged. "I wasn't. But remember that everyone will be staring once you're in the games. And there's no stopping that, not unless you're dead."

"Well, isn't that encouraging?" Starscream said sarcastically.

The boy smiled a little, again. "I actually will miss you, Stella. We were the perfect science trine, even with Skye's odder tendencies."

Then, a white clad human poked their helmeted head into the room. Boomer waved a little. "Goodbye, Stella."

After the door closed, Starscream sat down with a sigh of relief. "By the Allspark…"

* * *

Soundwave missed his Laserbeak. This world... They seemed to have fallen into some strange universe, in which Earth was a war ravaged planet ruled by a stiffly unfair system not unlike the caste system. Life was unfair, there was no avoiding it, but that didn't mean Soundwave had needed to like it.

Soundwave had never enjoyed his job as a Gladiator, but Megatron had offered a path of revenge and freedom, and Soundwave had followed gladly. He was no stranger to combat, none from either faction was, but as a Gladiator Soundwave had worked extra hard to survive. He would survive this.

And Starscream was here too, Soundwave wouldn't quickly forget the mildly amusing plight of the seeker, being stuck in a human femme body. But Soundwave also remembered that Knock Out and Shockwave had been present before he awoke in this world. Soundwave wondered where they were now, if they were even alive. They were valuable members of the Decepticon cause, or at least Shockwave was. Knock Out could go buff his finish, though he had at least some value as a medic and part-time scientist. Medics were at short value among the Decepticons, as many preferred being in combat.

Feeling a heavy weight upon his chest, Soundwave fingered the object before holding it up before his organic eyes. It was a black bird, a falcon as he recognized it, with spread wings as if flying upwards. Oh, Primus, was this Laserbeak? The aerial had been with him during the... blast…? Soundwave hoped that should they return to their own universe, Laserbeak would be brought back to life.

Soundwave sighed, scratching at the felty human furniture upon which he sat. Humans might view this room as 'nice', but Soundwave didn't really see the point of 'nice'. But then, he didn't see the point of most emotional stimuli. Emotions could not be relied on in a fight, and were a simple luxury that not everyone was allowed the privilege of.

Quite frankly, though, Soundwave was bored.

He was not sure what the humans wished to accomplish with locking him in this room. He had tried the door, and it opened, but he was instantly pushed back in by a white-clad guard. Soundwave did not find it necessary to try again. The Decepticon-turned-human was sure that this was no interrogation tactic, there was no point in interrogation.

Perhaps it was an attempt to unnerve him before the 'Games'. But if that were so, then that meant that the Games would take place either the next day or today. And judging by what the 'mayor' said in her speech early, and the fact that Soundwave and Starscream were announced as the 'tributes of District Three', that was unlikely. It suggested, confirmed several more, a lot more fighters for the Games, and that they were in completely separate areas of residence. Ten more fighters from eleven different places would take awhile to gather in one place, taking into consideration human transportation, which was very underwhelming. Trying to unnerve a fighter before a fight would only work best if the fight came immediately after. If you at to wait a few days, then that would give the fighter a chance to prepare themselves for what was to come, lessening the chance of a panic attack. So it was unlikely Soundwave was in here to 'stew', as humans said.

Throughout this contemplation, Soundwave almost unconsciously examined himself in the mirror on the back of the door in front of him.

He was tall, about five foot eleven, if he were to use human terms of height, but young. Not quite so young, though, most likely bordering on the human age of adulthood. Perhaps a year or two before that age, if he were to use human terms of time and age. Soundwave's very foreign _skin_ was dark, a 'light black' perhaps, again using human terms, making him look like a Hispanic human. His hair was black, and straggly, but short. It still fell a little in front of his optics, though, which were gold. Soundwave had almost forgotten about those.

Soundwave also took notice of his clothes. He wore a purple dress shirt, buttoned at the wrist, and a black vest, or more like an open waistcoat. His 'pants' were a very dark grey, bordering on black. This relatively formal setup kind of contrasted with the falcon pendant on his chest, not like Soundwave gave scrap about that.

Soundwave started as the door opened to admit a boy about his physical age, who cast a glare to the man escorting him before stepping inside, the door shutting behind him.

"Hey Wave," the boy said. He had blonde hair, and his attire was brown pants and an orange vest. Blue eyes bored into Soundwave's, who shifted about. Why was this boy here? He did not know him, why was he here? "I think the kiddos are gonna miss ya. Eddie really liked your stories, and... and Wire adored them too. Rick's definitely gonna miss your company, and Steelie never passed on a scratch behind the ears." The boy laughed, shaking his head. "Steelie's a right strange cat, I think it's 'cause Eddie and Wire humanized 'im."

Who were these people? And this boy, what was his name?

"Wave." Soundwave looked up to meet the boy's optics. "Thanks for being there after... After Wire died. Eddie got better whenever you came around, and Chroma opened up more after you retrieved the ring from... From Wire's body." So this boy had relations, Eddie was deeply connected to Wire, who was dead, and likely connected to Chroma in a romantic manner. "Little Eddie hero worshipped Wire, Wave. You gotta win, for Eddie if no one else." The boy gave Soundwave a wry grin. "Wave 'n Bax, that unlikely pair no one thought would be friends. Wire was twenty when he kicked it in that accident, Wave. You're just seventeen, and my brothers are lookin' up to ya."

Frag, this boy was getting to him. The touchy feely conversation was reminding 'Wave' of his own cassettes, hiding away on one of Cybertron's moons, waiting for him to retrieve them. Ravage had always said he had to be more empathic. Primus he missed her, and the twins. He hoped they were taking good care of Buzzsaw, who had been just a new spark when he left, just split away and put into a frame. Laserbeak wanted a brother, so Soundwave created an aerial frame for the new symbiot.

"Wave, do your best to win," Bax continued, "but don't give them a good show."

Soundwave nodded mutely. Bax smiled sadly, turning for the door. With a hand on the handle, the blonde boy looked back.

"Also, thanks for being good to Rick," Bax muttered. "I know he's slow, but it's just him. See ya, Wave."

Soundwave sat there, at a loss for words as the boy he didn't know was taken away by the men in white armor.

**A/N HardyGal: I thank my sister, Neon, for helping out with writing the Knock Out and Soundwave parts. Just in case none of you guessed it, Boomer and Skye are based off Starscream's trine brothers, Thundercracker and Skywarp. Bax, Soundwave's visitor, is based off Autobot Blaster, said to be a friend of Soundwave's before the war.  
**

**Neon: Thus, Wire, Eddie, Rick, Steelie are Rewind, Eject, Ramhorn, and Steeljaw, Blaster's cassettes. Rewind/Wire is the MTMTE comic version, being older. Eject/Eddie is based off various fics I've read, and the last two are simple. Chroma is genderbent Chromedome; anyone who's looked up MTMTE will know why I put him and Wire together and made Wire dead.**


	5. Trains with Smokescreen

Chapter Four: Trains, Tributes and Surprises with Smokescreen

**A/N HardyGal: Of course my reviewers get cookies! Voila! -it starts raining cookies- By the way, prepare for a small series of chapters, each focusing on one (or two in the case of Bee and Cee, Screamer and SW) of our lost Cybertronians, getting on the train, watching the reaping recaps and so on. Things will be more unified by training in the Capitol, I hope.**

Smokescreen felt as though he was being smothered and blinded. Perhaps this is what famous humans felt like, or celebrity bots. Of course, by the time Smokescreen was created, around mid or late war, there weren't really any celebrity bots. Just famous ones and infamous ones, and they didn't have any adoring fans following them, recording their every movement, or begging to shake their servo. There was no time for that, and no one worth doing that to. Of course, Smokescreen had been almost knocked into stasis (again) at meeting Optimus Prime, but he had managed to keep his most of composure, and also Optimus Prime was a famous mech that had followers, not fans, who respected him, not necessarily adored him.

But all these people around Smokescreen, it was as though they adored him. And Smokescreen had no training to tell him how to react to that.

Soon after the strange man had left, the Vehicon humans had entered the room. They had escorted Smokescreen outside to a sleek black car. The golden woman had already there, her ridiculously curly and sparkly golden hair bobbing on her shoulders as she nodded at Smokescreen and the human girl, the other tribute, who had also just been escorted out of the building.

"Let's go to the station then," the golden woman had said. Smokescreen hadn't met many human femmes. Just Jack's mom and Miko. Not of them had a voice like this, almost a sing-song voice.

The ride had been very short, and silent, with the exception of the golden woman, who talked a lot about their image or something. Smokescreen and the girl - Scully, was that her name? - stayed completely silent. Smokescreen couldn't help but notice that the girl was obviously upset, but seemed to be recovering. And she couldn't seem to help but glance at Smokescreen several times until it felt like she was staring at him.

The girl was a couple inches taller than Smokescreen, perhaps a couple years older, and she had coppery hair, tied in a lose braid down her shoulder. She wore a long dark blue dress with golden roses printed on it. Her brown eyes glistened with tears, and her cheeks were red, but her face was set in an unreadable expression, almost a scowl.

Resisting the urge to snap at the girl to stop staring at him, another thought kept on crossing Smokescreen's mind. Where the slag was he going?

Then, they had pulled up at the train station. The windows were dark, but Smokescreen could already see the flashing. "Just keep calm," the golden woman said, with that weird smile. "Try to maintain image, but that's not quite as important as when we'll be entering the Capitol later."

Gibberish to Smokescreen, but he just decided to nod. The girl just blanked her face more than it already was, wiping her cheeks in an almost forceful manner, inhaling sharply through her olfactory sensor.

Now, Smokescreen was among the blinding flashes as strong sunlight reflected off the lenses, surrounded by humans talking loudly and excitedly, pointing at either him or the girl, holding cameras, taking videos. It was at least afternoon. "Try to smile, please," the golden woman said between her own wide smile. She was leading them towards a train, which had an open door in one of the cars pulled up.

As much as Smokescreen wanted to be famous and renowned as a warrior, he wasn't comfortable with this at all, and that open doorway seemed like a haven. Even so, he didn't see a reason why to not listen to the strange human femme and attempted a half smile. This seemed to drive a few of the people around them crazy and some of them focused their cameras exclusively on him. At one point, Smokescreen was aware of eyes, and turned his head a little to make eye contact with the girl. Her red cheeks had faded down to her natural tan, and she raised her eyebrow at him in a questioning manner.

Smokescreen had studied the history of the Gladitorial Pits. At least one quarter of your survival depended on how much the crowd loved you. They loved a glory drinking champion, they loved a brawler, they even sometimes loved an excellent but very sullen fighter who hated every single one of them for what they wanted them to do, simply because the fighter still had flair. The crowd didn't love cowards or hiders. When it came to the survivors who just fought because they had to, no personality, the crowd could take them or leave them. When it came to the love scale, Smokescreen was pretty sure the girl was on the sullen side, and she thought that Smokescreen was the glory drinker.

The young mech-turned-human found himself wanting to defend himself and he shrugged a little, the small smile turning into a flinch of apologetic defensiveness.

As soon as they reached the door of the train, the golden woman had turned them both around, allowing the crowd of people to capture their faces on camera for awhile longer. "Feeling lost, kid?" the girl muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

"What?" Smokescreen hissed.

"Instant love is for the suck up districts," the girl muttered. Suddenly, the woman pulled them back into the train, and the door closed. Smokescreen gasped in surprise as the train lurched forward at an incredible speed. "No matter how much they might love you, it won't add up to you surviving. Trust me."

"Oh," was all Smokescreen could manage, as his eyes were still wide. "Primus, this is fast." This speed was very unusual for him, as a human. Sure, he was no stranger to speed, but that was as a Cybertronian, he could practically feel the speed course through his chassis, it was a natural part of him. As a human it felt like his inner components had been left somewhere else. He gulped, a very unfamiliar but somehow instinctive movement. "What is this, one-ninety? It feels like two-fifty, but-" He cut off. This was the damn future, human technology might've advanced enough to create a high-speed vehicle, though the car they'd arrived in seemed average.

Then, he had a tingly feeling at the back of his neck. He turned to see the girl staring at him in surprise, leaning against a wall. The golden woman was talking to some man in a uniform, for the moment oblivious to them.

"It's a high-speed train or something, Smoke," she said slowly. She had a slight accent to her vocals, like that of the man who'd visited Smokescreen. "From the precious Capitol. It's bound to be fast."

At first, Smokescreen almost demanded to know why this girl he hardly knew had called him by his standard nickname. Then he remembered that that was his real name as a human in this universe. So instead he just nodded, managing to get the feeling back into his body. His inner components had also come back. "Yeah, duh."

"Smoke, Scully," the golden woman suddenly said brightly, walking over to them. "I will bring you to your rooms. Follow me." As she walked down a lightly rocking corridor, she talked, but Smokescreen didn't really process much of what she said.

He needed to know. It seemed essential, and it might actually make the situation less impending and her less… sporadic. Smokescreen was pretty sporadic himself, but he did not feel like this human femme was down to his level of unpredictability. "Who is she?" he muttered to the girl, Scully.

His fellow tribute almost stopped dead, but she quickly widened her pace to be next to him again. "Smoke, were you, by any chance, taking anything recently?"

Smokescreen didn't understand. "What?"

Scully looked at him, a bit of concern on her face, just a bit. "Well, it's like you've been living under a rock, or on another planet."

Smokescreen's face twitched a little, and he opened his mouth. "Yeah," he said slowly, trying to think up an excuse. "Actually…"

But, Scully suddenly put two fingers on the side of his mouth, startling him and silencing him. "I don't care, and don't wanna know," she muttered. "Just for the sake of it, and hoping you won't forget again…" She jerked her head at the woman ahead of them. "Georgina Scope, our escort. Duh."

"Right," Smokescreen said slowly, pushing her hand away. That was pretty much his first flesh on flesh contact, and it felt beyond weird.

"Smoke, your room is right here." The golden woman, Georgina, suddenly pulled Smokescreen aside, showing him into a fairly large room, by a human train standard.

"This is so weird," Smokescreen muttered, looking around.

"What's that, dear?" asked Georgina.

Smokescreen shook his head. "Nothing. Thanks, I guess."

"Only the best, dear." A human term of endearment, but it felt patronizing. No more than 'kid', but Smokescreen was used to that, even if it was sometimes derogatory. "Now, make yourself at home, I will be right back after I bring Scully to her room."

Smokescreen stood in the room, staring at the open door, a little dumbfounded. Gladiators weren't given special treatment on Cybertron, exactly, but here it was different. Here it seemed pretty… nice by human standards. They were almost getting the treatment of well-loved gladiators, as though they were already adored by all.

He could hear Georgina a little ways away, talking to Scully. Smokescreen looked around. A human berth, several smooth wooden drawers on one side of the room, and two other doors, one leading to a small, bare room, and another leading to a human bathroom. Smokescreen was just looking into the bathroom when Georgina was suddenly there.

"Well, Smoke," she said brightly, Smokescreen stiff with shock as he quickly pulled back from the bathroom to see who had spoken. "This is your private chamber, though we will be only pulling into the Capitol tomorrow morning. Still, it is nice to make do with what little time we have in here." She giggled, and started pointing everything out.

"Bed, of course. Dressing room. The dressers have all sorts of outfits to suit you, so I'm sure you will find your style and size. And of course the bathroom. Make yourself at home, I will pick you and Scully up for dinner, where you may speak with Jonathan." She began to leave the room.

Smokescreen frowned. "Hey, wait a minute." Georgina turned, still smiling. "Pretend that I've got a glitch… or whatever. Who's Jonathan?"

Georgina giggled. "Smoke, my dear, I think you need some sleep." She walked up to him. As she was about as tall as Smokescreen, she looked straight into his eyes appraisingly, which almost made Smokescreen look away, but he stood still. Georgina pointed at each of his blue optics, lips pursed. "Yes, some sleep will do you very nicely. Take a nap for now, and I'll call you when it's time for dinner."

She left the room, closing the door behind her. Smokescreen scowled a little. "Well, that got me nowhere."

But, Smokescreen wasn't on the Stealth Team for nothing. He was a scout. Sure, not up to the level of Arcee or Bumblebee, but still, a scout. Smokescreen of course wanted to be a warrior, perhaps become a diversionary tactician (he was very good at creating a loud diversion). But it all came down to how good he was at what he was at the moment.

And anyway, Smokescreen wasn't about to stick around here. He needed some movement as well as information.

The next six minutes or so didn't give much. After Smokescreen had quietly left the room, he'd decided to go right down the train car. It was a fairly long train car, with a few other private rooms, and several uniformed people walking around. They didn't pay any attention to Smokescreen. Until he had reached the end of the car. Instantly, he was stopped, and told he wasn't allowed to enter another district's car.

"Sorry, what?" Smokescreen asked.

"You're not permitted to enter this car," the man in the grey uniform said stonily.

"Why?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "Are you District Nine?"

Smokescreen took a moment to think. He remembered, he was supposed to be District Ten. "No."

"Then this isn't your car." The man jerked his head. "Go the other way."

Smokescreen narrowed his eyes defiantly, but he turned the other way. He'd walked back down the corridor, and into a very breakable looking room. There was glass all over the large table in the form of plates and glasses and such, silver human eating utensils among the glass. It was like a recreation room, complete with a bar, but with a lot more breakable stuff, and it didn't look like a place for rowdy mechs.

But there were two people in the room, other than Smokescreen. Georgina and the man who had been onstage. Primus, that seemed like forever ago. They both looked up when Smokescreen had walked in.

"Smoke, I told you to get some rest," Georgina said scoldingly.

"Look, you're not my-" Smokescreen cut off, trying to control himself. "I don't like being held in one place." That was true, at least.

"It won't feel like being held in one place if you just looked around and rested," Georgina said huffily.

"So, I take an option," said Smokescreen. "I'm looking around."

The man, who was chewing on what looked like a human version of a cy-gar, chuckled. "I like you, boy," he said in the same low voice he had spoken with before, standing up from where he had been half-sitting on a table. Inhaling deeply on his cy-gar, he breathed out a cloud of smoke, eyeing Smokescreen from where he stood in the middle of it. "What're you doing here?"

Smokescreen stood still. "I'm looking around, sir."

The man coughed on his smoke, and laughed a little. "Sir? Well, that's something new."

"Well, I think it is refreshing for one of our young people to be so very respectful," Georgina said haughtily, before smiling at Smokescreen. "And someone from District Ten, no less."

Somehow, Smokescreen was offended.

The man coughed again. "Shut up, Georgina," he said, taking another pull at his cy-gar. Smokescreen wondered if human vents, lungs, could get backed up like a Cybertronian's. If so, this particular human was well on the way to that fate. This particular human in question turned back to Smokescreen. "There's only a lounge further down, kid. After that, unless you miraculously become District Eleven, you aren't going anywhere."

Smokescreen resisted the urge to groan. What was the deal with these rules? After that, Georgina had told him to just wait in his room, and Smokescreen's six minutes of scouting were over.

However, the next few minutes were also an adventure. The thing was, Smokescreen had forgotten about showers. Being on earth he had been introduced to car washes, thanks to Miko, and also there wasn't much muck that stuck to anyone's chassis. In boot camp, showers were a very short luxury. There was a war going on, and they could worry about their pretty finishes later. So, when Smokescreen turned the knob curiously in an inner chamber in the bathroom, he was instantly doused in cold water.

Shouting with shock, Smokescreen managed to turn it off.

Soaking wet as a Cybertronian is completely different from soaking wet as a human. As a Cybertronian, it's either cold or hot, and slightly ticklish as some of the water trickles in between your plating. It's fairly pleasant, even if unexpected. As a human, Smokescreen felt like he was weighed down and the water was seeping into his skin. As if the wet clothes weren't uncomfortable enough, they also made Smokescreen feel as though he was locked in his own personal room of subzero temperatures. Perhaps exaggerated, but Smokescreen still didn't like it.

Swearing, Smokescreen tore off the shirt. He didn't notice because Cybertronians just don't, but he was very fit as humans went.

He paced around the room, trying to shake the feeling of cold off by using movement. The dog tags rested on his bare chest, nice and icy after the shower. Apparently, cold effected humans the same way it did Cybertronians, because Smokescreen felt like he needed to take a recharge after the cold shower. He didn't know that humans slept on absorbent berths instead of hard metal ones, but they did, and he didn't care. Parts of him wondered if he should suck it up and just try to find a way to dry himself off, but he decided to ignore those parts. Lying on his back, Smokescreen slowly fell into recharge.

* * *

"Smoke!"

Smokescreen sat upright instantly, optics wide. "Yesss…" The 'sir' fell limp in his moth as he remembered what had happened these past few hours. The light was fading outside the windows, but the sun still shone a little.

Georgina was standing inside the room, lips pursed a little as she looked at Smokescreen. "It's time for dinner, dear," she said. "And goodness sakes, get a shirt on." She turned and left the room.

Smokescreen swung his legs off the bed, and put a hand on his bare stomach region, the muscles feeling very odd after that sudden movement. He saw the shirt he had been wearing on the floor, and he picked it up. To his annoyance, it was still damp, but he pulled it on anyway. If he could survive everything he had ever been through, he could definitely survive his wet clothes.

_ 'But can you survive where you're going?_' asked an irritating inner voice that sounded a bit like Smokescreen's old camp sergeant.

After a moment used to realize that the shirt was really restricting around the throat area, and that this probably meant that he was wearing it wrong, Smokescreen put the shirt on presumably the right way, and exited his room.

When he entered the breakable room, it was changed a little. Golden lights lit the room, even though the sun still had yet to go down. It made the room feel warm, figuratively speaking, and welcoming.

The man was in the room, as was Scully. They were sitting down at the table, along with Georgina, who stood up as soon as she saw Smokescreen.

"Smoke," she gasped. "What on earth happened to your clothes?"

"Um… I had an accident in the showers," Smokescreen said embarrassedly.

"You do realize that you could have chosen something new from the dressers," Georgina said, sounding rather shocked.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly used to the option," Smokescreen said slowly. Though that was the truth, he had actually completely forgotten about the option, but apparently he had said the right thing because Georgina nodded with a seemingly sympathetic look.

"Of course. And your shirt is inside out, dear."

Smokescreen felt like hitting himself for not realizing that, but instead he quickly removed the shirt, which made it turn right side in, and pulled it back on. He was then facing a very shocked Georgina, who looked as though the Ancients had been blasphemed, a shocked Scully, who wasn't quite as appalled as Georgina, just surprised. The man simply stared impassively at Smokescreen, taking a deep pull a different cy-gar like object. It was a lot smaller, and the smoke smelled more noxious.

"What?" said Smokescreen.

"Smoke…" Georgina shook her head, as if deciding against something. "You know what, never mind. Dinner will be here in a couple seconds. Just sit down and we may have a nice chat, and Jonathan will be able to do his job."

Scully's expression changed into a deep scowl, turning away. She had changed out of her dress into a red shirt and dark blue pants. As Smokescreen awkwardly sat down next to her, he got a better impression of the man sitting in front of him.

The man had dark hair, and a bit of hair grew on his face. He had a dark tan, and he wore a dark brown jacket, which looked like it was made of leather. He kept on coughing in between pulls on his mini cy-gar. His brown eyes darted between Smokescreen and Scully, while the latter seemed to be trying to avoid him.

Georgina sat down at the table, and then the food came. Smokescreen supposed it was his new human body that made his stomach region clench when he smelled the food. He realized that sustenance was something that he really needed, as energon was still in short supply among the Autobots, and that energon wasn't an option. He had never considered human food for sustenance. Ever. His experience with human food involved a very nasty missile to his window, and a prank or two with Jack. But now, his stomach region was seriously making him reconsider human food.

The food came in courses, and Smokescreen warily ate a bit of everything that came. The very wide variety of flavors was so odd that it made his mouth, chest and stomach feel a little odd. Scully ate rather quickly, having quite a bit of everything. Smokescreen remembered the desolate looking younglings back at the place called District Ten. Did humans have enough to eat in this universe?

Along with the wide variety of human food, Smokescreen came up against something else rather awkward. He didn't know how to eat it. At least, not the way Scully, Georgina and the man, Jonathan, were, with the utensils provided on the table. There was a bowl on a silver stick, a four pronged utensil, and a knife. Humans used weapons for eating utensils. Ok.

Whatever was solid, Smokescreen picked at with his fingers. The liquid foods were almost a blessing as they were more familiar in the way one ingested them, but even then, Smokescreen didn't eat them the same way as the three others at the table, simply drinking them from the bowl.

Georgina ate with a daintiness that suited her, but was at the same time irritating. She kept on glancing at Smokescreen with and odd look on her face. Jonathan didn't eat much, mainly getting a couple drinks from the bar, but he ate whatever stuck to the four pronged eating utensil. Scully ate everything, of course, a lot less dainty than Georgina, but at least she used the utensils.

Georgina finally said, "Smoke, dear, why don't you use the silverware?"

Smokescreen didn't reply immediately, but simply cast a glance at Scully. She was still eating, albeit slower, so he could see that she held the pronged utensil in her hands like one held a stylus, and she held the knife clenched in her other hand, stabbing with the meat on her plate with the pronged utensil and cutting with the knife.

"The kid can eat how he wants, Georgina," Jonathan muttered, smoke pouring from his mouth as he spoke. "Table manners aren't gonna get him through the Games."

"Yeah," Scully said suddenly. "So what is gonna get us through the Games?" She was glaring at Jonathan. "I'm not hearing any hot advice coming from your mouth."

"Kid, you better eat up before the Games," Jonathan said, pointing his cy-gar at Scully. "Cause I can't always guarantee food in the arena."

"That's it?" Scully snapped.

"Scully, my dear, please calm down," Georgina said forcefully. Scully ignored her.

"That's what my brother depended on?" Scully snarled. "No wonder he stood no chance, all because of you, ya son of a-!"

"Scully!" Georgina exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Scully had also stood up while yelling at Jonathan, but she didn't seem to have noticed. "Sit down right this instant, young lady!"

Scully pursed her lips, before sitting down forcefully. Smokescreen looked between her and Jonathan, who's face had hardened. The end of his cy-gar glowed brightly, indicating a hard pull.

"Kid, you don't need to remind me of anything," Jonathan muttered through clenched teeth, before grabbing a glass full of alcohol, standing up, and leaving the room.

Georgina looked at Scully with a glare. "Scully, he is your best chance of winning the Games," she said admonishingly.

"Tell that to my grieving family," Scully muttered.

Georgina pursed her lips, but everything fell into an awkward silence. Smokescreen sat there warily, feeling a familiar vibe that he related to Arcee when she was in a bad mood. The meal soon ended, Smokescreen touching nothing else, and Georgina, still in a mildly bad mood, brought the two of them to another room, which had a screen set up in it.

"What are we doing here?" Smokescreen asked.

"To watch the other reapings of course," Georgina said, her voice back to its sing-song quality, but rather forced.

Scully seemed to have settled down a bit, and she, Georgina and Smokescreen sat down at a couch to watch the screen. A shiny emblem appeared on the screen, along with an instrumental anthem.

The montage of human younglings being called to fight in a gladiatorial game for some reason felt very unreal to Smokescreen. Perhaps because it was like something right out of history, something that had been put a stop to on Cybertron a long time ago, a thing Smokescreen only read about. And now here he was, in another universe, a human to take part in a gladiatorial game. It truly was unreal.

Smokescreen just watched, staying relatively quiet, as commentators talked about what was happening on screen. Around the time when the boys were being called for District Two, a very enthusiastic in a brawler kind of way district, Smokescreen spoke up, displaying his ability to speak without thinking.

"Why the slag would you humans let this happen?"

"Smoke!" Georgina whispered, appalled. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Shut up, are you trying to get all of us _killed_?" Scully hissed, glaring at Smokescreen. "Then again, the Capitol _is_ making sure that happens," she added, sitting back and crossing her arms.

"Scully!" Georgina gasped. "Now, both of you be quiet and just watch, right now. I mean it."

Smokescreen kept his mouth shut, biting his glossa. _'Smart move, Smokes. Unless you want to try explaining everything you really are, keep your vocal processor offline. Or whatever the scrap the human version of a vocal processor is.'_

But, Smokescreen's silence didn't last long, because when the femme youngling was called in District Three, a significantly less enthusiastic district, Smokescreen recognized her, in a weird kind of way. Then she started screaming as the Vehicon-humans brought her onto the stage, and swearing. And not just swearing, but swearing like a Cybertronian.

Smokescreen stood up sharply. "_Starscream_?" he shouted.

"Smoke, I insist that you sit down right now and be quiet," Georgina said, like a scolding carrier. Scully just stared at Smokescreen like he had gone off his processor.

Smokescreen did sit down, but now he was a lot more fidgety. Starscream was here. If Starscream was here, there was a very high possibility that everyone else was here, including Ratchet, Arcee and Bumblebee. The possibility made Smokescreen feel a lot better. And now he was smirking a bit because Screamer was stuck as a human femme. In fact he couldn't contain a short snigger, which just made Scully stare at him again.

The young Autobot felt like shouting again when Soundwave was called as the male tribute. Sure, he was a Decepticon, but he added more weight to the possibility that Smokescreen's team was in this universe too.

Unlike Starscream, the ever silent 'Con just complied with what was wanted, walking onto the stage. Apparently, just as he (or was that now she?) was shocked to find himself in this situation, Starscream was equally shocked to see Soundwave.

Now he watched the reapings with new attention, scanning each tribute carefully for something familiar. Sure, after District Four almost every tribute called looked shocked and frightened, but he was looking for someone who was shocked about their surroundings, not quite knowing what was going on. Also, he knew his team well enough to be able to recognize them, even if they were human. Because, hey, if he could recognize two humanized 'Cons he would definitely be able to recognize his humanized team.

District Six. Smokescreen definitely knew that guy, the one with the irritatingly smooth accent that stayed even when he was a human youngling shouting in a confused panic. Knock Out. Also, he wore red, that was a giveaway.

Smokescreen couldn't contain another short laugh, but he quickly wilted beneath glares from Georgina and Scully. So, he began counting off._ 'Three out of four 'Cons accounted for. But that's still three out of four 'Bots unaccounted for.'_

And as the districts came and went, Smokescreen started to get discouraged. He realized that there was no reason that all of them would be called in for the Games, and that would mean that Bumblebee, Arcee and Ratchet could be anywhere. Anywhere in this Pit inspired world.

By District Twelve, Smokescreen had almost given up on finding any of his team. He resisted the urge to stand up and pace as a woman dressed in bright blue clothes and ridiculously large hair drew the slips from the girls' bowl. She went back to the speaker, and read, "Arcee Escout."

"Arcee, oh, thank Primus…!" Smokescreen gasped, then quickly shut his mouth. He watched sympathetically as Arcee momentarily panicked and attacked the Vehicon-humans, much to the shock of the commentators, the audience and Georgina.

"Well, that…" Georgina couldn't seem to find the words, but she seemed rather appalled.

Smokescreen was very irritated with this golden human, acting as though everyone ought to be happy that they were being sent to their violent deaths. Though, Scully was very shocked as well, but not appalled. Just plain surprised. The commentators mentioned that there were quite a few protesting tributes today.

Then 'Bryan Escout' was called, and a blond was singled out, with bright blue eyes, Smokescreen actually fist pumped. "Thank you, Primus," he whispered again. It was Bumblebee. Even if Ratchet (and, less worryingly, Shockwave) hadn't been seen at all, at least Smokescreen knew that they were there. Slag, they were probably, most likely, on the fragging train right now.

"Shut. Up," Scully hissed.

Then, Smokescreen suddenly realized that he was acting overly happy about the fact that these random people from other districts were being sent in to a fight to the death, at least in Scully's eyes, and he sat back, falling silent again. But, the reapings seemed to be over, and the emblem from the beginning reappeared with the anthem song.

"Well," Georgina said, her sing-song voice restored again. "We will be pulling into the Capitol tomorrow, and it will be the start of another exciting day. So, I suggest that you two get some rest. And… hopefully, Jonathan will feel a little better." She cast a look t Scully, before standing up and leaving the small room.

The two younglings sat in the room, Smokescreen at least sensing some sort of awkwardness. "What the hell were you doing?" Scully said suddenly, turning on him.

"Look, I know that it seemed as though I was liking this, and I'm sorry about that, but I swear I'm not," Smokescreen said.

"No, not just that," Scully said, sounding exasperated. "I mean talking about the Capitol like that in the beginning. Sure, they're real bastards…" She said this in a very low voice. "But you could get your entire family killed for saying that, and you know it."

"Yeah…" Smokescreen said slowly. "I kind of doubt that."

Scully scoffed in annoyance, sitting back with a huff. "I'm honestly not sure what to make of you, kid," she said. Then, she colored slightly, and her voice calmed down a little. "I mean, you act as though you're from space or something. And what was the deal with acting that way about those District Twelve kids? And the District Three girl."

Smokescreen shifted uncomfortably. "Um… I know them."

"What?" Scully gasped incredulously. "Ok, now I know you're really off your rocker, Escren. Districts aren't allowed to interact with other districts, Smoke!"

The young Elite Guard groaned, pressing a hand to his head. "Look, am I allowed to come clean with you?"

"Yes," Scully said slowly, sound wary.

"Ok, my name isn't Smoke… Escren. It's Smokescreen. I'm actually a robotic life-form from another universe, where earth is seriously a lot better, though admittedly less advanced in technology than this. Not like I'm actually from earth, I'm from another planet called Cybertron, where everything is technological and stuff, even more so than the human technology in this universe, no offense. Anyway, me and my friends had to go to earth because a war tore up our old planet, and we have to hide from the humans as well as protect them from our enemy, the Decepticons. I'm not a Decepticon, I'm an Autobot, one of the good guys. That girl and guy from District Three, and the guy from District Six? They're Decepticons, the bad guys. Those two from District Twelve are friends of mine, Autobots Arcee and Bumblebee. We, along with the 'Cons, got caught in some sort of explosion in our own universe, and then we were blasted here, as humans." Smokescreen then remembered that humans needed oxygen to breathe, and took a breath.

Scully just stared at him. She licked her lips for a moment, before saying slowly, "So those kids from Twelve, Three and Six and you are actually robots from another universe from another planet…?"

"Yeah," Smokescreen said enthusiastically, glad that at least one person here could hear his explanation for his weird behavior. He got to his feet, fist pumping. "And now I can talk with my team and we can figure this weird stuff out and then we can go home. And maybe we'll take the 'Cons, I mean, even if they would leave us behind in this Pit we at least have to act like the better mech."

"Kid," Scully said slowly. "Whatever the hell you were taking before now, I think you should tune down on it." Then, she left the room.

Smokescreen stared at the door for a moment, before groaning. "Well, that's just great," he said aloud. "You blew it again!" Then, with a sigh, he left the room and went back to his own quarters. Exhausted and kind of dejected, Smokescreen didn't even bother laying back, but just fell on his chest onto the soft, and slightly wet, berth, and fell asleep.

**A/N HardyGal: Primus, this was hard.**


End file.
